


Hooked - The Sea Devil

by Caustic_Heart



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27448777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caustic_Heart/pseuds/Caustic_Heart
Summary: 'Ravishing' he had said.   Jane was about to learn the true meaning of the word.
Relationships: Harry Hook/Jane
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The archive warnings are ...
> 
> \- Major character death. (Mentioned)  
> \- Rape / Non-con (The latter in a mostly technical sense.)
> 
> Be warned, I take liberties
> 
> Work in progress

\- Jane POV -

The darkness of the woods gave little comfort. Racing with her eyes scanning more for obstacles than where she was going. The pain she hoped to outrun was keeping pace too easily on the cleared trails. In desperation, she threw herself to the left and plunged into the wilder paths, those made by deer and rabbit, the branches clawing at her clothes, pulling her hair, scratching her skin, but she didn’t care. The physical pain drove the emotional agony to dull. Sobbing, she plunged on until, with only a few inches to go, the wood suddenly ended and she skidded to a halt mere centimeters before she reached the cliff’s edge. 

Panting, shaking, she stood with the glorious vista before her, blues scanning the bright full moon over the beautiful sea below. She could hear the waves, the crashing collision of the surf upon the ragged, wild rocks below. Every breath burned, her heart felt as if it were made of shards of diamond, too hard, too shattered, each throbbing beat sending a thousand daggers into her. 

_ Carlos… _

The name was a blade in her thoughts. How had it gone so terribly wrong? How could he be gone? They’d argued. It was a simple sort of fight, just… one of those things that built up and overflowed in harsh words. Couples fought. It wasn’t their differences that had lead to it, but their sameness. 

She’d never been pretty. Never been smart. Never been what she always dreamed of being. She was surrounded by princesses who were gifted from birth with beauty and charm and grace. She was all thumbs. Dumpy and useless. Her mother was not unkind, but she was busy. Far too busy to notice her. No one ever noticed her. Carlos had spent his life feeling the same. Runty and scrappy, his father a mystery, his mother domineering and cruel. He was never allowed to believe he was good enough either. Put two people like that in a relationship and it was understandable that both of them lived in constant fear the other would suddenly wake up and realize ‘hey, I can do better’. That every smile given a friend, every polite interaction with anyone would be fertilizer to that seed of doubt. 

He had never forgiven her for that day in the woods. He hadn’t meant it. He was a … villain. He had only done it to rile Carlos but where she should have frowned and realized instantly the truth, she’d allowed herself, for just a second, to feel flattered and desirable and … ravishing. Carlos brought it up all the time. That she could go if she wanted. That she didn’t have to stay with him when he wasn’t tall or dark or handsome and she’d just … had enough of it and broke it off with him. 

She wasn’t there when Dude went missing. When Carlos tracked him to that dog fighting ring in the abandoned Isle warehouse. When the men shot him dead. She’d never now get to tell him how sorry she was. How it was her fault for being stupid enough to get twitterpated and silly. 

A swift twinkling flicker as a star fell, shooting across the black velvet sky. 

_ I wish… _

She heard her mother’s voice, a lullaby from when she was almost too young to remember. About dreams being wishes your heart made. All her heart wished was to be in Carlos’ arms again. The sea below hissed and crashed and she heard the faint clatter of stones knocked loose tumbling down into the dark. 

_ No matter how your heart is grieving _

_ If you keep on believing _

_ The dream that you wish will come true _

She hurt so much. The wind lifted and she closed her eyes, put her arms out to the side, dreamed she could just fly away from her pain and her guilt. One step… that was all she’d need to take to gain the punishment she deserved. 

  
  
  
  
-Harry POV -

The sea called to him. He couldn’t live in the pristine pretty Bore-a-don world for long. He was Harry Hook for Pete’s sake! He had salt water in his veins and his legs cramped if the ground he was on was too steady for too long. He often came up to the cliffs to look out over the island that had been his home once. A ramshackle, filthy, hive of villains, yes, but it was all he knew. All he had ever known. Like an aching tooth or a bad case of hiccups, when it was gone, even though it had sucked, you kinda missed it. 

Something came barreling through the trees a few hundred yards off and he was curious. He was careful as he moved. They hadn’t dimmed his senses with their ‘fresh food’ and ‘bathing in clean water and soap’ bullshit yet. He smelled it before his eyes caught the figure in the moonlight. The smell of clean skin and vanilla underlined by a hint of something ethereal. The note of someone with magic blood. He knew that body, that hair, the skin like a polished pearl. He saw her body trembling, her breath fast and hard, ragged in her throat and though he knew it was not passion that made her so breathless, he could not help the ache that the unbidden flash of fantasy caused. 

Watching for a moment, he knew what had lead her so far from the pristine and cultivated inland. He knew why she was weeping. True that he and Carlos had never been what you'd call friends, but his death had been a shock to everyone and a terrible loss to the world. Part of him, the better part, the stronger part, he hoped, felt sympathy. Wanted to offer her company and someone to talk to if she wanted. To offer to walk her back and see her back in the world that people like her belonged in. Maybe that was his mother’s side. 

He’d never known her, but in time he patched together her life. Her name had been Jane as well. She’d been a prisoner of his father, tied up in the depths of his ship The Sea Devil when it was cursed to be forever docked on The Isle of the Lost. All James Hook’s impotent rage was directed toward her thereafter. The things he’d done to her, the things he’d gleefully recounted as he drank himself into a stupor every night, it sickened Harry to think about. 

She got what his father called ‘too long in the tooth’ rather quickly. His father liked them young. Very young. She had fled and James was too distracted with a new playmate to notice. What James Hook didn't know was that Jane was cursed to be a mother before she became a woman. 

He might never have known if hadn't caught sight of her very pregnant self on the street. In the fight that ensued, he choked her to death with his good hand and, perhaps realizing that Harry was there too, sliced him out of her belly with his hook and took him away. 

It was his father’s side that was hurting him still. His silky voice in his ear whispered that a pirate took what pleased him. No quarter given. No place for sympathy, only action. Harry watched the wind lift her hair, the strands of raven-wing darkness flying to leave her neck bared. He wanted to sink his teeth into her skin, to suckle and mark her up and leave her bruised and branded and his. His alone. 

She shifted, just a fraction, but the fire of his ardor was extinguished the instant he realized what she intended. Without thought he sprang from the treeline and wrapped his arm around her waist, his hand clapping over her mouth as he pulled her back from the edge, dragging her toward the trees where she’d be safe from her suicidal intent. 

She fought and wriggled, and it was not helping his thoughts remain pure. She was soft and sweet and he could almost taste her as he felt the leaf-strewn ground under his boots again. 

“Hello, Duckling.” he purred into her ear and she went still, her breathing fast and shallow against the side of his muffling hand, his other pressing the hard curved edge of the silver hook he’d taken from his father’s body against her waist as he let his lithe frame mold to her, his tongue darting to dampen his lips. “T’isn’t safe to be out so late. You never know what manner of villain might be about.” 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

\- Jane POV -

She was jerked back, fear pushing away the sadness in a fight-or-flight desperation. She reached up and down, one hand closing against hard studded leather and the other cold metal. Even as his voice penetrated the panic she knew. 

_ Hook.  _

She recalled the day he’d introduced himself. The memory haunted her dreaming for far longer than was sensible. It had been hardly more than ten words toward her but over and over it echoed in her most primal thoughts. Unladylike fantasies that, upon waking, had her achy and overheated and ashamed. 

She pried at his wrists, attempting to get free as he drug her backward into the dark forest. She was sure something horrible was going to happen when, a mere second later, the grip loosened and she was free to stumble back on her own as he sidestepped. She collided with a wide tree trunk, her hands falling to her sides to brace her, the rough bark still not enough to remove the echoes of the feel of leather and steel under her palms. 

“What...what are you doing here?” She hissed under her breath, inwardly chastising herself for not screaming at the top of her lungs.  _ Not that anyone would hear you all the way out here _ her mind whispered

He lifted his hook, waggling it back and forth a moment. “Ah-ah-ah... I might ask you the same thing.” He was doing it again. Looking at her as if he was starving and she was a banquet table. Ravenous and held back only by not yet knowing what dish to pounce on first. His eyes, framed in darkness, drifted down her body lazily, his mouth making faint twitches and half-smiles as if his inner thoughts were pleasant indeed. When he finally met her eyes again, he cocked his head a bit and sobered. “I won’t be having you throwing yourself off a cliff. Don’t you know it takes happy thoughts to fly, my sad little Duckling” 

She opened her mouth to argue that she’d never do something like that, but the blood rushed to her face as she knew she would be lying. Bowing her head, she realized she’d wanted to. Now all she could think about was her mother finding her bloated and crushed corpse half-eaten by fish. She looked back to finish her protest, to apologize for … whatever, but he was far closer than he’d been and she let out a little yelp of surprise as the point of the hook ran from her temple to her jawline, brushing back her hair as it did.

“Tell me what’s driven you out so late and to such a desolate place.”

She gulped faintly and blinked up at him. “Um... no. I’m fine. I’m better now. You don’t have to worry. I didn’t mean to be a bother.” She found her voice but it was soft and low, almost a murmur.  _ Scream! Run! Knee him in the tenders and get the heck out of there! _ A voice in her head was shouting but she couldn’t move. “I just needed to get away from Auradon.”

“To the choir you’re preaching.” His hook moved swift to rest against his heart, his mein one of deep reverence though his eyes never lost that hungry look. “I too am seeking a little … piece.” 

She knew he’d not said peace. Knew it sure as her own name. Her throat threatened to close and she shook her head faintly and decided to feign ignorance. “Oh, well, I’ll leave you to it then.” She moved quickly to skirt the tree when, equally as swiftly he came around the other side and cut off her attempted escape, his grin wide as he did so, making it obvious that if she ran, he’d happily chase her down. She was prey and he, like an alley cat, was toying with his dinner. 

“You can’t do this.” She felt chilled and overheated at the same time, her heart again hammering against her ribs in rebellion. 

“Who’s going to stop me?” His sensual mouth adopting a leering smirk. “You? Go on then… stop me.” He held his arms out to the side as he took a step forward, his chin dropped, watching her from beneath his brows like a predator. “Use your magic.” He licked his lips, his voice a sinister, seductive purr. “Do me a mischief.” 

“I...I don’t have a magic wand.” She confessed it before she could think.

“Oh, is that so?” He lowered his hand and though her eyes didn’t follow, she knew where it wandered. "You're welcome to use mine then." In an instant he sprang forward and the scream she’d been stifling broke free. 

  
  
  
  
\- Harry POV-

Oh, her body was heaven. He had to let her go. Had to step away before he lost himself. He felt her pulling at his arms, even through the gloves he could sense how soft her hands would be. He’d thought of them so often. Moving over his chest, along his belly, lower still…

Damnit! He swore inwardly and loosened his grip, slid away hopefully before she noted the rising evidence of what her nearness was doing to him. 

“What are you doing here?” 

She whispered it almost. Her voice was tremulous and soft. She didn’t scream. She didn’t run. He could see where tears had streaked down her cheeks. Her dark hair had fallen loose, clinging there like fine cracks in the perfect porcelain of her face and he felt another pang of sympathy and concern. She was so sweet. 

_Ah, sweet like a candy. Created only to be devoured…_ His father’s elegant voice slithered through his consciousness. 

“I might ask you the same thing.” His thoughts veered from kindness as his eyes left her face. Her dress was so tempting. Compared to girls on The Isle, she was quite seductive. No tight-but-concealing leather, only dainty ribbons and soft lace. A woven net of see-through flowers that skimmed her body as delicate as moonlight on the foam of the sea. The dress beneath left so much of her exposed and yet covered, a tempting thing that made him ache to tear away the illusion and touch the barely-visible flesh beneath it. To run his tongue over her collarbone and drag that all-too-brief skirt the rest of the way up those honey-sweet thighs. To drive out any thought of sadness with the sheer volume of pleasure he would show her. A balm to her wounded heart. 

He drug his mind from the gutter and his eyes from the curves of her glorious body to focus on her face. She was scared and sad and he wanted more than anything to just throw his hands up and show her he was not going to hurt her. He tried to express his feelings. His awareness of her sadness. His need to make it better. She turned her face away, blushing. He slid closer, making no sound, not wanting to startle her. She was so delicate and gentle. He had never known anyone like her. So kind and open and generous. He wanted to comfort her, moving her hair from her face, from those eyes like a perfect summer sky, pale and perfect. Even red-rimmed they were glorious. 

She was stammering and as if she’d somehow ruined his night by intruding on him with her suicide attempt. She claimed to want what he wanted though. Respite from that feeling of being an ill fit. Of feeling closed in on by the civilization of the world outside the wild woods and the expansive ocean’s call. 

““To the choir you’re preaching.” He pulled his hook away, knowing he’d used it because touching her skin with his naked fingers would have been too much temptation to survive. “I too came for a little…” he swallowed hard, aware of the husk he could not rid it of. “Peace.”

He saw her disgust. It wasn’t blatant, it wasn’t virulent like every disdainful pair of eyes that had torn at him his whole life, but it was there. As was fear. She looked cowed and frightened but there was more. He couldn’t shake that she seemed to think she was in the wrong. That he was the one in need of being apologized to. It made him angry to see her act like that. Like she was low and unworthy. It made him hurt in ways he didn’t want to think about and he shoved his good side away. 

She moved to slip away and he knew what he had to do. He’d give her a good scare and she’d run back and never come out here alone again. She’d be safe with her own kind. Good people who knew how to help her. Who wouldn’t be constantly distracted with the urge to kiss her until she was dizzy. 

He was sickened a bit to feel so much enjoyment tormenting her. It would be worth it to suffer whatever spell she’d hurl at him. She admitted so quickly that she had no wand that he almost stopped. Almost laughed and backed away and let her (pun aside) off the hook. He knew that if he relented, she might not run home. She might stay and if she did, he couldn’t trust that his natural wickedness would not overwhelm him. He was a Hook. Nothing more than a disgusting, thieving villain. He needed to show her that. 

Rudely he grabbed at his crotch and dove at her, soothed inwardly when she screamed and darted out of his reach. He hung back, watching her run back toward home, knowing he’d done the right thing, but wishing he could have been the hero for once. Dried her tears and swept her up on his white horse or whatever it was those Bore-a-don asshats did to woo a princess. A gallant, square-jawed prince with a gleaming smile and the libido of a sack of scraped-off barnacles. 

No, he wasn’t cut out to be the hero. He was a pirate. Born and bred. Blood and bone. He could leave the island, but he could never be anything but a thief, a liar, and far-too-easily it seemed, a ravager of the innocent.

He’d stayed his hand tonight. Shown restraint, but he felt the darkness deep inside him like a maelstrom, a whirlpool that would pull all that decency straight to the bowels of hell and leave him with only the stain of his lineage. By week’s end he would have her ass up, knickers down, screaming his name or he was not James Harrison Hook. 


	3. Chapter 3

\- Jane POV - 

Since Graduation Jane had taken an apartment in town. No more dorm life for her. The solitude had been strange at first, but now she found the quiet comforting. Or, she had before ‘the cliff incident’. 

She still wasn’t over it fully. Not the guilt or the embarrassment or the sadness but it was the other part that was proving impossible to put behind her. She could rationally understand that it wasn’t what it looked like. She’d run it over and over in her mind and the only thing that made sense was that Harry Hook was, like many of her friends, a victim of a bad youth who had some rough spots he’d not yet smoothed out. Sure, he was a little… odd, but harmless at his core. 

If he was really threatening… what it appeared he was, then there was no way she’d have outrun him. Oh, but she had run. Like the devil himself was on her heels. Laughing now at how silly she must have looked she guessed it had to be villain kid humor. Not that he was a kid. No, he was nothing if not a man, and there lay the heart of her troubles. Hard as she’d run, fast as she’d gone, she’d somehow been disappointed that he didn’t catch her. Didn’t even chase her. 

That was stupid! She didn’t want him to … she couldn’t even think of that word in her head without feeling queasy. It would be, well if not evil than certainly not very good of her to spend her nights in feverish dreams of being snatched up from behind and his sexy voice in her ears, his hands everywhere, his … No! She snatched up her brush and shook her head, frowning as she began her nightly ritual. No more. Yes, he was very attractive in a sinister sort of way but it hadn’t been six months since Carlos passed. She owed him more than that. Hair brushed and braided, teeth brushed, face washed, now she could get a bit of reading in before bed.

A soft rain had begun and she happily settled into her favorite chair and opened the book she’d just begun the night before. She’d been reading for some time when she first heard the sound. A very soft ticking sort of noise like the cadence of a clock but a bit too high pitched. It lasted only a second and then stopped. Listening intently she heard nothing more, and with a shrug returned to her reading. A minute later, there it was again. Tick-tick-tick. The rain began to pick up and as it did, so did the noise. Tick-tick-tick…….tick-tick-tick…..tick-tick-tick. It sounded like something was outside on the balcony.

To call it a balcony was a bit generous. It was hardly two feet square and more for decoration than anything. The french windows opened and she saw instantly what had caused the noise. It was a small rusty metal bucket with a rod through it sideways. It would fill with water then, as it wasn’t quite in balance, would tip forward, dumping the rain out and then swinging back and forth before it settled into the task of collection again. It was this swinging that was tapping the bottom of the bucket against the glass. 

She was wondering how it got out there when a heavy darkness appeared before her, sending her scampering backward in shock. Drenched and dripping, his lip curled in a self-pleased smile, Harry stepped over the sill and dropped into the room. 

“I thought you’d never come to the window.” His hand rose and ruffled his hair, sending droplets in all directions. “Oh, I could have knocked m’self but where’s the fun in that?”

She didn’t know where to begin. “What? Why? You have to get out of here.” She stammered a moment. 

“Aww, you’ll not be sending me back out into that tempest now?” He pouted. “T’is not fit for man or beast out there.” As if nature itself were his wingman, a heavy snap of lightning was followed by a loud roll of thunder. 

She frowned a bit. “Okay, fine... “ relenting she motioned to the still ajar bathroom door. “You can dry off. There are towels in there. Soon as the rain lets up though, out.” She was over her shock and now very aware she was hardly dressed. Her sleep shirt was long enough to reach her mid-thigh, her shorts just shy of that. She stifled the urge to pull at her hem and try to make the faded shirt cover more. “I’m going back to my book.” 

He gave a magnanimous sort of low bow. “My Lady…” Then with a spring in his step, he headed for the bathroom and she closed the window after moving the toy out of the reach of the glass. No more ticking at least. She grabbed a throw blanket and covered her bare legs as she retook her seat, keeping one eye on her book the other on the bathroom door behind which she could hear him moving around. 

“I’ll never get used to this place.” He mused loudly enough to be heard. “All these fancy things just to wash yourself. Whole rooms devoted to it. What’s wrong with a good old fashioned bucket and brush I say.” He opened the door, now shirtless, his ragged trousers hanging low on his hips. “Good enough for the deck, it's good enough for me.” He looked around, brow knit in confusion. “Where’s your fire?”

She forced her jaw to click closed and averted her eyes. “No fire, it’s a boiler system. Hot water pumped up through there…” she pointed toward the radiator. “Warms the room. If you’re looking for somewhere to dry your clothes just … lay them beside that.” 

He grinned and chuckled under his breath. “Oh, am I offending your delicacy, Duckling?” He tossed his wet coat and shirt toward the radiator’s general area as he stalked a bit closer, stopping short at her wardrobe. “Perhaps there’s something in here I can wear.” Before she could stop him he’d pulled the doors open and begun running his hands over her clothes. 

“Stop that!” She shut her book and almost stood up, but realized that would put them both into half-naked territory. 

“Why are all your clothes so damn sexy?” He grumbled as he pushed hangers aside. 

Sexy? What was he playing at? “They are nothing of the kind.” She huffed faintly. 

“Oh, they are the very devil’s garments.” She had to strain to hear him. “Made to tempt a man to sin they are. So soft and delicate. All lace and frill…” He pulled out a dress that, after a moment she realized was the one she’d been wearing when her last birthday went so horribly wrong. His dark hair dripped, sending a bead of water to run down his chest as slowly and gently as he ran his fingertips along the fabric. 

“Would you please put it away.” She huffed lightly, trying to force herself to sound casual when the way he was touching her clothing was far too personal and was making her feel squirmy in the belly. 

He turned and looked her way and there was that same predatory look in his eyes, a tiger in the tall grass. For a long few seconds, she couldn’t tear her gaze away but then, as if he’d flipped a switch, he grinned and gave another overly-grand bow. “As you desire.” He hung the dress and an instant later pulled one of the drawers open. “Ooh, look!” he gave an exaggerated face of surprise, hand to one cheek, that hook-in-hand to the other. “T’is your wee little knickers!” He plucked out a pair with that hook and let it dangle. 

“Stop that!” She did spring out of the chair then and stalked over, snatching at them as he lifted them out of her reach each time her fingers got close. 

“Ooh, almost got them that time...ah, try again…” he laughed as he deftly swung them like a pale pink flag in a manner that kept ensuring she was pressing up against his bare chest in her attempts to grab them. Realizing this was only serving to feed his enjoyment of taunting her, she stepped back and thudded into the wardrobe, frowning.

He gave a little ‘come on’ sort of pout before he took them and slid them into his pocket. “To the winner goes the spoils.” 

"What possible use would you have for them? I mean, with the barrier down there's no more black market for Auradon-made clothing."

His palm fell to rest upon the door just above her shoulder as he leaned in, pressing far too closely. His hungry eyes ran over her face as he smiled a wicked smile, his voice a purr. "Do you really want to know?"

She suddenly had a hint of his intentions. That was so … deviant. "No. No, I think it's better I don't know."

His hook drifted again to brush the hair from her face. "A fine decision…" a whisper as he leaned closer, lids dipping, his intent to kiss her quite obvious.

"You have to leave now." Her command came out far more like a plea.

The hook slid down along her neck, the point catching under the collar of her nightshirt, pulling downward faintly to expose the hollow of her throat. "It's just one kiss. What harm can one little kiss do you?"

He was so close. She couldn't think straight. "I…" 

"Say yes and I'll return your nicked knickers." The hook's cool steel slid in a tickling back and forth along the edge of her shirt.

It was just a kiss. Before she chickened out she gave a quick little nod. "Alright."

The word barely spoken and he pounced. This was not just a kiss. She had only ever felt kind kisses. Gentle, loving, chaste kisses. This was animal. His tongue thrust into her mouth, delving with a hungered groan. His fingers tangled up into her hair, bending her head back as he loomed over her, his naked chest and stomach pinned her to the wardrobe. Heat overtook her and the flat palms between them slowly shifted from pushing him away to creep over the taut muscles of his ribcage.

With a ragged breath, he broke the kiss. His mouth trailed along her cheek to growl against her ear, raising goosebumps at the feel of his teeth closing against her earlobe. Her knees didn't seem to want to hold her up. The pressing of his body and the wardrobe behind her the only thing keeping her from slipping down into a puddle on the floor. His skin was so warm and with every breath his ribs flexed and she was more than ever aware of how much strength must lie in that swimmer's frame. Realizing she was still holding him her hands dropped quickly. She had to get control over herself. "Okay, you've had your kiss, now give them back." Blushing at how her voice had cracked just a bit, stealing any hope of sounding cavlier. 

"Soon as I am done with them." He chuckled as he stood a bit to look down at her, reading the indignant shock. "Hey, I never said when I would return them, did I?" His face shifted from mischief to hunger instantly, though tempered by an almost reverence. He lowered his hand slowly, his palm on her breastbone, his fingertips rough as they traced her collarbone. 

“So beautiful. You did it on purpose. You put a spell on me. Made me want you so you could take pleasure in playing keep-away. Tormenting me with that … puppy dog of yours. So wide-eyed and devoted. Barking like a little terrier when the big dog came sniffing.” His nose brushed her cheek and she could feel the faint stubble on his chin as he snuffled at her damp hair and skin. “He said you were taken. Did he? Did he _take_ you?” 

“Don’t be crude.” She pushed at his chest already annoyed about the underwear trick. “That’s none of your business.” 

“It’s my _only_ business tonight." He lifted her hair and nuzzled at her exposed jawline. "Whether he did or not it doesn’t matter because I’ll be taking you myself." She felt his hook come up her hip to catch and lift the edge of her nightshirt. He dampened his lips as he looked down at her. “I can be gentle if you ask nicely but I am what I am. Birds gotta fly, fish gotta swim, pirates gotta ravage maidens.” He gave a disarming smile and a half-shrug. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You’re your own man. You can choose to be anything you want to be.” She was getting lost in those pale green eyes, his handsome face, the closeness of his lithe body still pressed against her. She reached down with shaking fingers to cover his where they gripped the hook. “This isn’t a part of you. You can let it go.” Her heart hammering, making a desperate plea to his better nature. "Think of how much more you can do without it." 

In a flash he lifted the hook over his head and brought it down hard, embedding it into the wardrobe door just inches from her ear, making her jump and squeak in surprise. His hands in tandem fell to her collar and with a wrenching tug, tore it open. “You’re right.” He muttered. “Two hands are better than one.” Pushing the widened neckline down over her shoulders his mouth left trails of fire over her neck and chest as his rough fingers dug into her upper arms. 

“Please.” She shook her head and groaned despite herself when a press of his hips dug the evidence of his lust into her hip. “You’re not a villain.” 

His left hand rose, fingers curled, nudging her chin to lift, her eyes to meet his. Smoldering pale jade framed in ebony, devoid of mercy, of gentility, of anything but a ravenousness that almost made them glow. “That's where you'll find you are very... very wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

\- Harry POV - 

The rain ran down his hair, his neck, soaked into his coat and shirt as he crouched on the ledge just above her window. It wasn’t hard to track her. She was far too trusting. She walked as if there were no villains in the world still. As if she were safe. 

He’d hated himself. Haunting memories had driven him to sleepless nights consumed by the needful urges and his father’s voice haranguing and nagging at his subconscious. Every night he’d rise after all hope of slumber had been eroded and retrace his steps to this quiet little nest in which his prey slumbered, unaware of the danger so near. 

He’d slip down onto her petite little balcony and watch through the window as she slept. He lied to himself. Said he was just making sure she wasn’t still in a mood for self-harm. That he wanted to keep her safe. Oh, he wanted… but it wasn’t her safety at all that was first in his thoughts. 

He eyed the latch. It was not the sort he could trip from outside. He was a pirate, not a cat burglar. He began to have a thought, was planning it out when he was drawn from his reverie by a low, sensual groan. 

He looked up from the complex latch to the bed where her covers had been stripped half away, her back arched, her mouth a soft ‘o’ of shock or pleasure. Her cotton nightgown had crept up around her thighs, her bare soles slid on the sheets as she shifted and wriggled in a slow serpentine grind that stole his breath. Her tongue moved to slide across those plush lips and though it was only two words that slipped past them, they were enough to damn his soul. 

“Harry…. Yes...” 

Thunder rumbled and he was pulled back to the here and now. He had laid the bucket device on the sill, and with every ‘tick-tick-tick’ his nervousness grew. At last, the window swung open. A little half smile, part of him still pleading for sense even as he dropped down with a light-heeled swing onto the balcony, sending her stumbling back in surprise as he stepped in. 

She was flustered. So adorable. So cute. So unaware of his true intentions. If she’d even half a clue she’d have been screaming the house down. 

In her bathroom he stripped off his drenched coat and shirt, his pants, for the most part, had been spared due to his crouched posture. He lifted a bottle off the counter and sniffed. Mmm… vanilla. She _would_ smell like a cookie. Made his stomach growl to think about nibbling. 

When he exited, he noticed her face, how she feigned a blush, looked away, played the part of the sweet innocent when he knew better that she was anything but. He opened her little closet door in an attempt to get her out from beneath that blanket but she didn’t take the bait. 

His eyes were drawn to the dresses hanging. His thoughts came out of his mouth without intention. One dress in particular called to him. It hung low on the hanger’s edges, as it had hung off her shoulders that day in the wood.

He’d paid her little heed at first, so preoccupied was he with the whole ‘raging beast trying to tear his head off’ thing. When the beast was gone, his eyes at last noted the beauty. Had they been alone, the day would have ended very differently indeed. He traced the lace edged frill and imagined now as he had then, of how easily it would be to just tear it off her and have his wicked way.

“Would you please put it away.” 

Her voice cut through his reverie and he looked over. If it were true that eyes were the windows to the soul, let her see the black void of depravity and rapaciousness that lived where his soul ought to be. Then, he smiled and played the fool, for a moment anyway. Let her hold to her delusion that she was safe for a bit longer.

Curiosity drove him to open a drawer and though he retained the foolish attitude without, inside he was steeled further by the rows of soft, delicate, lacey bits that so cruelly had the job he himself would have given his eye teeth for at the moment. The flashing of the undies had her out of her chair though, and the game of keep-away was making it nearly impossible to concentrate on biding his time. 

Even through the fabric of her shirt he could relish how soft her breasts were as she leaned against his bare chest, her arms all but thrown around his neck in her pursuit, his greater height urged to keep her on her toes, literally. His thread of restraint was fraying swiftly. Just before it snapped, however, she took a half step back, bumping into the door of the wardrobe and giving up. 

He leaned in, trapping her there with his hand on one side, his knee on the other, bending his head to taste her lips before he went mad with the want of her. He promised her the damn underwear back. He’d have promised her the moon itself if it got results. She’d barely begun the nod when he did what he’d been wanting to do for months. 

It burned like cinnamon candies, hot and sweet all at the same time. Her mouth was made for kissing. Oh, and no doubt so much more. Her tongue moved against his and if she had not been doomed already, that would have done it for certain. There was no going back now. 

He was forced to remember when Carlos had thrown his arm around her. Puffing up his chest, attempting to look intimidating, but also showing off. ‘Look what I have. You can’t touch it. You can’t have it. It’s mine.’ He growled faintly, nipping at her ear, aware now as he’d been then of the stabbing pain of jealousy and covetousness. Images of that little … kissing her. Touching her. Bedding her. 

He let his feelings take over his tongue. Betrayed his plan outright. Warned her of his intentions and her inevitable fate. Yet she reached up and with such gentleness brushed her fingers over his, her wide doe-eyes so full of hope and goodness. She thought him redeemable. Worthy of anything other than contempt and disgust. She was wrong. 

If he had even an ounce of goodness in him, he would run. He would never cross the bridge again if that’s what it took to keep her safe. His heart thudded hard in his chest, echoed by the hardened length of him, the proof of his lust, his corrupt nature. Rotten to his very core. 

His fingers held her chin a moment more before moving upward, his palm cupping her chin, his fingers pressing into her cheeks to drive her jaw to part as his head bowed and his tongue again drove into the depths of her mouth, kissing her roughly, deeply. 

She fought in earnest and his hands closed around her wrists, dragging them to be pinned to her side. He broke the kiss only to drag a rough breath through his teeth. “Don’t tempt me further. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m a pirate. We see something we want… we take it.” 

Her wrists still in his grip he yanked her toward him as he stepped back. Using her momentum, he ducked and let her fall over his shoulder as he crouched a bit. Rising to his full height, she was caught by one arm around the back of her thighs, the other still holding tight to her wrist. In two steps he crossed the room to toss her onto the bed, following her down before she could make her escape.

She pushed at him and whimpered, her nails scratching at his bare shoulders. Oh, that would not do. Her softness under him was muscled beneath the curves and he had to work to keep her from bucking him off. 

“Ooh, that’s a right girl.” His eyes burning as he worked to catch her wrists again and pin them over her head. “Wriggle for me.” Lewdly grinding his hips into her as she tried to escape. “Fight all you like, it won’t do you any good.” 

She gasped and made a coo sort of sound, a mix of moan and a kitten’s mewl. As he’d hoped, his words made her feel self-conscious for moving beneath him. Now that she was calmed, his fingers, strong from years of swordplay, forced her wrists to cross and with one hand held them down, his other lifted between them, index bent in the simulation of a hook. “You’re Hook’s booty now.” 

With methodical slowness he traced the line between temple and jaw, the thrum of her pulse in her throat, the shadowed line of her collarbone. That crooked index sliding under the ragged remnant of her nightshirt’s collar. Down, down until her breast was bared. As pale as the rest of her, crowned in the most tempting pink centers. His mouth salivated to consider how that bud would harden upon his tongue. 

“T’is impossible. You’re more beautiful than I dreamed.” He licked at his lips, the greens darkened faintly as he bent slowly, never breaking eye contact until the last moment when his hot mouth closed over her nipple and began suckling and licking at the tender flesh. 

She squeaked and gasped, bit back moans as he lavished that flesh with ardent suckling. His fingers cradling, keading, squeezing, tormenting the still-covered with the unspoken promise of the shift of attention that was soon to be taken. 

He murmured against her skin as his knee pressed between her plush thighs to spread her legs enough that he could feel them around his hips where they belonged. “Don’t lie and pretend you don’t want this. You think this is my first time in this room? I heard you moan my name in your sleep last night.” 

She stiffened and gasped, but he knew it was only surprise at being caught. His hand left her breast to run down over her shirt, dragging up the hem between them. “You’re not as innocent as you pretend. You cast your spell unwisely.” 

“No, stop, please! I didn’t cast any spell. I can’t!” Her head whipped back and forth on the bed, her tone beseeching. 

A pang of something noble. A crack in the darkness that tried to remind him that he was hurting her. Making her unhappy and that he didn’t want to do that. He lifted his palm and slid it down her belly, spreading his own knees to force her wider so his palm could rest against the juncture, the radiant heat there, the damp, betrayed her and inwardly, his devil crowed. 

“You fairies are all trouble. Didn’t my own father say it a thousand times?” His nails scratched hard and if there were not cloth between them, he’d have left a quartet of wounds in his wake. As it was, it would just tingle and tickle and make her insides pound and ache and crave. Her hips unconsciously lifted into his pawing as proof her protests were, at best, for show. 

“You’re already so wet.” He hissed as he leaned over her, his bare chest crushing her breasts against it, sliding to tease her oversensitive nipples with the heat of his own skin. “Beg me to leave. Lie and say you don’t want me to take you right now.” 

“I can’t.” She shook her head. “I can’t do this..” Her words hinted at rejection without giving it. She said ‘I can’t’ but he heard what she truly meant. _Take me. Take me. I am yours_. 

He looked down at her under him, her breasts bare, covered in the now rising color of the lust-bruises he had left in his unbridled passion. Marks that she’d wear and know who had left them. Her eyes so luminous and blue, her lips still kiss-swollen and pink as strawberries. 

He moved to kneel beside her, his fingers creeping under the waist of her shorts to drag them downward. Every inch a glory, the unveiling as torturous as the wait had been, the reveal almost ending the night too soon. His ragged breathing loud in his ears, he tossed the shorts to the side absently. “So lovely…” he was so hard it hurt. Poised on his knees above her, his belly flexed with each harsh breath, his gaze almost a physical touch as he ran his eyes over her exposed flesh, memorizing her beauty. As if in a trance his hands drifted toward his belt and began the task of undoing it. For several moments she watched, seemingly spellbound before, with a blush, she tore her eyes away.

His hand slid under her head, tangling in her hair, turning her face toward him. “Let me see those pretty eyes, Duckling. There’s a girl…” He smiled as she looked up at him. “Spread your legs for me…” his free hand catching under her knee to peel her thighs to part as he moved between them, his trousers merely undone as he’d no patience left to remove them. 

His touch slid up her thigh, moved between them, wound around his stiffness and drug the tip of his erection along the dewy slit until it was slippery and she began to grind against him each time he brushed her most tender spot. 

His fingers left her hair, palm laid on the mattress just beside her ear, bracing himself up as he nudged at heaven’s gate. “Prepare to be boarded.” he grinned again and she squeezed her eyes shut as he pushed forward by inches, pausing when he felt resistance, drawing a whimper from her lips. 

“Oh… hang me. Virgin." He spat it like a curse as he pulled away a fraction only to surge forward again. It was so tight he had to take a moment to get his wits around him before he spent himself before he’d even felt the depths of her. With slow firm strokes that quickly sparked to deep rutting thrusts he made her fit him, heard her cries, felt her heat and juices growing with every moment. 

Eloquence fled into grunts and rough breathing, lost in the glorious ecstasy of having her like this. His eyes burned as he huffed through clenched teeth, sweat beading on his forehead causing the dark strands to cling there. He wouldn’t last more than a few moments more, though he wanted it never to stop, the inevitable was too soon upon him. . 

“You did this to me.” His breath caught. “Damn you.” His eyes rolled back a bit and his body twitched as he pushed so deep it hurt, grunting as wave after wave of thick cream poured into her, pleasure surging up his spine and down into his toes as he erupted and convulsed with rapturous delight. 

He shuddered there, poised on the razor’s edge between climax and collapse. When he could move, he pulled away with an unexpected hiss of shock at how tightly her body clung to him still. Collapsing on his back, his arm draped over his eyes, a sinfully satisfied grin on his lips to think her body wanted more. And he’d give it to her. Let him catch his breath and he’d rouse right enough to see her moaning into the dawn. 

He was lust-drunk, barely aware that she was sliding away, bolting for the bathroom, the lock clicking. He didn’t worry. He could feel the sticky reminder that she had been more than welcoming. Whatever she might say, she wanted it just as much as he had. 

He had been, perhaps, a bit too rough with the delicate little bauble. He was inwardly self-satisfied that he could now put to rest all those jealous little thoughts about Carlos and devote his mind to fantasies of how he’d make it up to her. Hrm… where was she? He sat up, sliding out of the bed and pulling his pants back over his lean hips as he moved toward the bathroom door. He paused, hearing the shower running, his attempt to quietly open the door found it to be, indeed, locked. 

He thought, for a moment, of breaking it down. Of joining her and spending a long hot steamy romp all… suds and roaming hands.... A groan and bite of his lip as he began to feel that rising ache again. Damn her. He never thought ‘the next time’, only the now. Instead all he could do was flash on the dozens, no, hundreds of ways he could make her his. 

When at last she turned off the water and crept out, she would find the room was empty, the window open. On the bed lay a sleeveless coat, ragged and worn, a bright pink Post-It note on the lapel. 

_When you come to me,_  
_and you WILL come to me_  
_Wear this coat._  
_Everyone knows it is mine._  
_Now they will know you are mine._

_The Sea Devil - Slip Seven - I.O.T.L_


End file.
